"To the profit of both men, I would imagine, my lord."
"We need them, Sir Matthew. I cannot spend my days running Roberts, and you have as much on your plate as you can handle. Brother Joseph must be brought on to take more responsibilities, I believe - but we will still need many leading men from outside the Family."
Sir Matthew agreed, commented that Joseph was producing new ideas and designs and his parts of the enterprise seemed well in hand, but that he was perhaps more relaxed than he had used to be, less driven to succeed.
"Papa was always worried that he would work himself into an early grave, so it might not be a bad thing that he is less obsessed by his labours."
"My wife, his sister, is worried for him - she is not entirely sure that all is well with him. I doubt that it could be yet, myself."
It was inevitable that the young man should still be distressed - he could not be expected to make a recovery in less than years.
Joseph was far happier in his life nowadays - he could work all day, eat a light snap, for he found he had little appetite for food just of late, and relax with a pipe or two, or just occasionally three, perhaps four, he was sure it was no more. He slept well, dreaming happily, never a nightmare any more, and woke easy in himself in the morning - sometimes he wondered whether he might not enjoy a relaxing pipe with breakfast, but work had to come first. He had to admit to himself that he did experience an amount of discomfort in the water-closet lately, but that was not too uncommon a sort of thing, and he had told his cook to put up the occasional rhubarb pie so all would be made well in that department.
He had made no attempt to provide himself with female company - that matter had become much less pressing, which, after all, was to be applauded by the moralists.
His life was settling onto a far more even plane, he felt, which was as his dear Papa had so often begged him to achieve. Far less of a chance of working himself to death now.
He checked on the stocks in his little cupboard, made a note to pay a visit to Mr Starling's Apothecary Requisites - he must never risk running short of his little luxury - the very thought made him shiver for some reason.
What must he do this week? There was a letter from Robert which he really must open, it had been on his desk for three days now...
"Stupidity! If we could build a collier of two thousand tons I would have done so myself! What a codshead!"
The proposals for bunkering, for handling the coal needed for ships' boiler rooms, were at a standstill. The capital could not be raised, it seemed - there were so many other projects that there was a shortage of money, or so Robert seemed to say. So then, as an expedient, a temporary measure, steam cranes to unload on one wharf, an engine and trucks to shift the coal from the heap to the ships on the other side of the harbour and to tip down to their decks where their own people could shovel it away. Not the best practice, but costing far less to set up.
It was easy, he could find a solution to anything, his brain clear and untrammelled by everyday worries!
What next?
"The party wishes to be informed about the state of the new towns, Mr Andrews - we hear so much of the miseries of the people there, yet I fear that we are told only that which suits the aims of the teller. The churches speak of degradation and immorality, and demand monies to build chapels and schools and pay for their people to man them; medical men prate of new diseases and another Seven Plagues of Egypt, and say we must salary more doctors and create infirmaries for them to practise in; borough councils tell us that their streets are awash with sewage and that we must find tax-payers money to remedy this evil."
"A great difficulty, my lord," James replied. "Yet it is possible that all are true to an extent. Lord Star knows much of the problems in his locality, and has spoken to me on occasion, given me information that has sometimes horrified me. The thing is, my lord, that as a manufacturer's son, I have never had any occasion to venture into the company of the poor - indeed, my parents took pains to keep me away from their rookeries, for the good of my health. I know no more of the actualities of these things than do you!"
Earl Grey had not realised that there was so great a gap, such a distinction of the different sorts of people - he had vaguely thought all manufacturers to be of the grubby-handed classes.
"Would it be possible for you to make a visit to these places, Mr Andrews? To make a report?"
Brougham, also present, having put James' name forward, intervened to suggest that he could provide a young man to act as secretary for the duration of the inspections.
"There are always young gentlemen wishing to bring themselves to the attention of the leadership of the party, Mr Andrews, hoping to be invited to become members, most of them."
Grey's face soured at the obvious inclusion of Brougham himself in the leaders of the party - that was not a distinction he was ever wishful to offer Mr Brougham, though accepting that he must include him in any Cabinet he might form.
'Too powerful to ignore; too unstable and self-interested to trust. If young Mr Andrews is to an extent his protégé then to acknowledge him is a compliment to Brougham..."
Grey remained in thought a few seconds, roused himself with a deprecating smile.
"Too many late nights, I fear, gentlemen! Later in the year, Mr Andrews, you might wish to take charge of the questions newly rising of the matter of Colonies. Empire seems inappropriate, yet we find ourselves more and more with responsibilities overseas and we must give thought to what will be best for the country. When we form an Administration, which may well eventuate before too many years go by, then there will be a need for a Secretary to take charge of such affairs. A first question might be whether Colonies naturally fall within the purview of the Foreign Office; it could be argued that they are essentially domestic, a part of the Mother Country but separated by a stretch or two of water."
James left the party leader's presence and sat down with notebook and pencil, recording all before he forgot anything important. His colleagues all assumed that he was a diarist, had already developed the habit of avoiding attributable indiscretions in his company.
He spoke at length to Jennifer on his arrival home and she arranged a dinner at Mount Street; the Head of the Family must be informed.
"A very good thing, James - I had been waiting their response for time now. We are too important a clan not to be courted - they cannot simply put you down as a follower, although it would be difficult for you to return to the Tories. One does not cross the floor of the House twice, as a general rule."
"So then, Robert, I must go up to Lancashire and make my report?"
"You must indeed, James. Independently of the Family, I think - staying in hotels would be best. You will be penetrating the back streets, sometimes by foot, but using a carriage whenever possible - your leg offering a perfect excuse. In a carriage you are less likely to experience assault and stand a far better chance of keeping purse, watch and fob and handkerchief. You will wish to observe all that happens of a Saturday evening, when the men are paid and the streets become the scenes of the most extreme of bacchanals; we can arrange for there to be at least four big men at your back."
"It sounds like a wild, foreign land, Robert. I could almost expect there to be cannibals waiting in ambush!"
"In the deepest alleys, anything is feasible, James!"
"What of fevers, my lord?" Jennifer was, and sounded, anxious.
"Fewer in the cold weather, but always a risk. Visit at the Infirmary, where there is one, and enquire, and keep out if they give the warning."
"Best you should stay away, ma'am; not a chance I wish you to take."
"You will make your final report directly to Grey, I presume, James?"
"I understand so, yes. Possibly I should go through Brougham, but I believe there to be a degree of ill-feeling between the two, so it might be better to keep them separate."
"Difficult. Brougham, though erratic in the intellectuals, appears to be a more upright sort of gentleman... Gre
y is, not to put too fine an edge on the matter, a whoremonger. He has sired an immense brood of children and when his wife is expecting takes his leisure wherever he has the opportunity - his taste ranging from Duchess to flower-girl, wholly indiscriminately. One of Devonshire's daughters is called Courtney and is being brought up overseas for being known to be his. Melbourne, of course, husband to Caroline Lamb, is even worse! And they are the two leaders of the Whigs! Brougham may sometimes be a fool, but he is less of a villain."
James was moved to expostulate.
"'Villain' is a strong word, surely, Robert. Immoral, certainly, but not quite criminal."
"Melbourne has a taste for the whip, James, and will often rescue orphans from the streets for the pleasure of lashing them. He seems to think an occasional beating to be a small price for an otherwise comfortable life. A nasty man. His wife, as the whole country knows, was Byron's whore for a time and it would seem anyone else's who may care to ask since - possibly as a result of his predilection."
"I am surprised Papa instructed me to become their follower, if that is so, Robert."
"I doubt he knew, James. He was always on the fringes of Society, was never an insider and would have missed most of the gossip, fortunately, perhaps."
Later, in the privacy of their own house, James asked Jennifer whether Robert had not perhaps exaggerated.
"No. There is a set who behave in very strange fashion, James, and choose to keep their activities as a very open secret. They are not restricted to any one party and they normally pay generously for their little amusements - but there is an increasing feeling against them, I am told."
"So they will be forced to stop their activities?"
"No, husband - they will simply keep them more deeply secret."
James travelled to Lancashire on his own, apart from his man and the new secretary and a pair of apparent grooms and two other general assistants, men of a very military bearing. Jennifer, suspecting that she might be increasing, preferred not to take the long, cold journey.
"Would it be possible to venture inside one of these terraces, Mr Baker?"
James' new secretary thought not; the rookeries were not amenable to inspection.
"These places are the location of the undeserving poor, who tend to be highly felonious, Mr Andrews, and must be distinguished carefully from those inhabited by the industrious and honest."
"How does one tell the difference?"
"Easily, sir - a simple external inspection will suffice. Observe, sir, the street itself."
James peered at the narrow carriageway, could see nothing that told of the condition of people nearby. The roadway was wide enough for a single cart, just, and was entirely empty; it was brick paved, herringbones of red commons, frequently interrupted by potholes.
"The bricks are often levered up and become missiles to be hurled at outsiders, and at each other in their drunken brawls. We are present, so there are no children at play, no adults lounging, no women talking at the front doors - strangers are to be feared. Look now at the housefronts, sir."
Dirty, mud-stained and unpainted - not even a smear of old whitewash. Many of the window panes were cracked or fully broken, the gaps stuffed with rag. There were no curtains to be seen. The doors were wedged shut, none having a knocker and only a few with a handle.
"All of the brasswork has gone to the totters, sir, sold for a penny or two. Any handles left are iron - worth almost nothing."
The roofs were all of slate, mostly whole.
"The places are dry, sir, and that is all that can be said for them - there is no way of selling second-hand roofing slates, sir, none to touch them in the pawn shops. The owners of the terraces would take action against any shopkeeper who took their slates so that the roofs rotted and the ceilings fell in and made the places derelict and unable to earn their few shillings of rent."
"You seem to have a knowledge of this sort of locality, Mr Baker."
"My father is a minister in Yorkshire, Mr Andrews. I grew up with this."
"What would I see inside?"
"Almost nothing, Mr Andrews. Bedding of old sacks on the floor, perhaps a table serving as sole furniture as well as eating place. Whole families in one room. In the worst of them, perhaps a dozen of old men and women with a place at the wall to sleep against, paying a penny or tuppence a week for the privilege, begging their only income, a gin bottle between them if they are lucky enough to get an extra groat. Huddled together in winter for warmth, for there is no fireplace, and wearing all the clothes they possess."
"The children?"
"Out begging, or making money however they can in gangs. They do not play. They have no strength to waste on games, probably have no concept of enjoying themselves. Their parents - if they know both, which is uncommon - have nothing for them, rarely any food at all. They grow wild, and they die very young - from ten boys it will be rare for two to last to adulthood. Girls are taken away at an early age, sometimes sold by their mothers, more often just disappearing - very few are to be seen ever."
"I did not know... How many are there?"
"Who knows, sir? I do not. There are four streets in St Helens, as you can see, perhaps three hundreds of dwellings - three or four thousands of people, possibly? A tenth of the whole of the town? Less, perhaps? There is none to take a count, sir, none to have a need to know."
Baker led James back to the carriage, took him a quarter of a mile across the town, to the other side of the industrial area.
"Working-men's streets, sir. The same terraced houses, sir: two up, two down and opening out onto roads that are no less narrow - but see the difference!"
Every front door had its scrubbed step, many recently brushed over with thin paint; there was a polished knocker and the door handle shone. The windows were curtained and all cleaned and shining. The roadway had been brushed clear. At least half of the chimneys showed a trickle of coal smoke.
"Cooking ranges, Mr Andrews; very few of the womenfolk would waste fuel on heating the house just for themselves. Perhaps if there is a sick child then they would take the chill off, or if there is a baby due immediately, but not otherwise. They will have blankets and quilts on the beds, so will see small need for a roaring fire."
A group of children were playing, running about further down the street, close to an open door.
"Fed sufficiently to have energy to spare, Mr Andrews, and a grandparent to watch over them - never left wholly unsupervised, sir."
"The children all seem to be warmly clothed, Mr Baker."
"The times are high, sir - every man has a job, if he can do one, that is. Most of the women can find outwork as well - sewing on buttons, embroidering, that sort of thing, almost all needlework, lucky if they can make thruppence an hour but pleased to get it. While they do not fall ill, and especially if they have girl children of an age to be nimble-fingered, the family can put a good thirty shillings a week together, possibly more. The boys can then be schooled, which gives them a chance to go as improvers to learn a trade - lower than apprentices but with the possibility of making a skilled living eventually. Twenty good years in succession and a family can move up in the world, even able to put fifty pounds together to buy their own cottage a little further out of the town centre; one bad season, as little as three months of unemployment, and they lose all they have here."
"What if a man, for the best of good reasons, cannot work? Illness, or this sort of thing?" James patted his wooden leg, able now - sufficiently at ease with himself - to draw attention to the disability.
"Then he is finished, sir. He becomes a burden on his family, dragging them down to the gutter, except he is lucky enough to have adult sons and daughters earning, and willing and able to carry him. A disabled parent means grown children who cannot marry unless they throw him out first, for the money will not be there."
"Do they simply abandon them? Does it not bring the reprobation of the whole neighbourhood upon them?"
"A pillow over the face more common, I
doubt not, sir. A few of the elderly, as we saw earlier, are put out of house and home - but most die within a very short time of becoming a nuisance to the family. In part, of course, it is because there is no money for doctors and their medicines, but mostly it is because they can no longer justify their existence."
"I stood in the House not too many weeks ago and referred to this as 'a Christian country'. Was I wilfully blind, Mr Baker?"
"There are probably twenty thousands of grown men and women in this town, Mr Andrews. All of the churches and chapels put together could not seat one quarter of that number - and very few are found to be bursting at the seams, sir!"
That was a point that had never occurred to James - the country would need four or five times as many places of worship if the people were ever to become devout - the evidence was in front of their eyes.
"Even in Cromwell's day, Mr Andrews, when I believe it would have been a very bold man who claimed not be a saved soul, it would have been impossible to bring all of the people of any town together in worship. Nowadays? The camp-fire revivalists come through every so often, and bring thousands to pray and sing and cheer and confess to the beating of the drum, and within a month they are back in the boozing-kens of a Sunday - falling to their knees, perhaps, but not in prayer!"
"What is to be done, Mr Baker?"
"A Free Infirmary to every town, sir; a small dole to every unemployed man; a place of refuge for the elderly and enfeebled; above all, work for every man and woman. Free schooling for those children who could use it would be of advantage to us all - most can learn the rudiments of reading and writing, sir, and a few can benefit from more and become the engineers and mechanics we so badly need."
"Is that all?"
The Wages Of Virtue (A Poor Man at the Gate Series, Book 8) Page 19